The Spark That Starts It All
by Words Fly
Summary: Mads O'Connor is living in the present instead of dwelling in the past. She's completely in control of herself and her life, and she's perfectly happy working as a personal assistant at Rand Enterprises. Ward Meachum thinks his assistant is strange but respects her ability to deal with him. Neither of them expected to become friends, or for everything that happens afterwards.
1. The Sentiment Is Nice

**Words: **This is the right category. This is a story set in the Marvel Netflix Universe of _Iron Fist_, and it is a Ward Meachum and OC story. (For anyone that likes random bits of information, this story is set in the same universe as my Frank Castle story. You do not have to read _Girl, You Taste Like Sugar_ to understand this.) It picks up after the end of Season 2, after Danny and Ward return from their adventures. Also, this story exists because I love Tom Pelphrey and poor Ward deserves some love.

**Count:** 7620

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**CHAPTER ONE – THE SENTIMENT IS NICE**

**04 MARCH 2019**

**MADS**

"Your resume is a joke. Are you aware of that?"

Mads O'Connor crosses her ankles before she tucks her feet under the chair, and the slight smile on her face doesn't change at all as dark eyes stare into her own. The Big Boss in the suit behind the large desk has a very piercing stare, the kind of look that probably sends most people into a mild panic, but no one's stare will ever rival the fierce glare of Major O'Connor.

"_I wonder if he tried to have a glaring contest with the Grim Reaper?"_ she thinks absently. Because the Major never went down without a fight, and her father never missed an opportunity to tell her that death was the ultimate fight.

"Anything to say in defense, O'Connor?" her possible-boss asks and effectively pulls her thoughts back on track.

"It is a bit lacking, but you must like something in it since you keep inviting me back for follow-up interviews." This is her _eighth_ interview for this one job, and she didn't even know companies requested eight interviews. Even if she doesn't get the job, she feels like she at least learned something about perseverance from this experience.

"Is there anything about you that will affect your work here?" He looks bored, as if this interview isn't going to impact him at all. This interview is to be his personal assistant, and this is the first time he has personally interviewed her. The previous seven times, she was interviewed by a very sweet woman who at least feigned interest.

"After illegal experimentation, I gained an ability known as telekinesis. It's the ability where I can make things move using just my mind, but I never use it. I can't control it actually, but I haven't had a really big incident in years," she says honestly. The small twist of his lips is nearly cruel, so she knows that he doesn't believe her. It doesn't matter that superheroes and enhanced people are practically common now; she isn't running around in spandex, and she's interviewing for an assistant job. Disbelief is a rational reaction. So she just widens her smile, makes her whole expression a little brighter, and he lets out a sound that might be a sigh and then leans back in his large chair.

"That's funny. Humor isn't part of the job." It's strange. She can't tell if he dislikes her or if he dislikes people in general. Either way, he doesn't seem like a very pleasant person.

"Understood, sir," she says because she was raised to be polite. To smile and be courteous, even if the other person is being an asshole.

"You keep being called in because the others who got the job before you can't handle the work. Maybe they didn't have the right sense of humor." Everything about him is so _dry_. Mads absently scratches at the curve of her left knee as he looks up at the ceiling, and this time he does blow out a sigh before speaking again. "Can you do what I ask you without getting in the way?"

"Of course, sir."

_(She's short and quick on her feet, so she's sure that she won't get in his way.)_

"Do you cry easily?"

"No, sir."

_(Only while watching Disney movies and rom-coms.)_

"Temper?"

"No, sir."

_(Not anymore. Temper is completely under control.)_

"If I asked you to start right now?"

"I'd get to work, sir."

_(It's not like she has anything pressing to do.)_

He finally looks away from the ceiling and straight at her again, and he raises a brow when he realizes that she's still smiling. She's always smiling. It took some time, but she learned how to find peace. It will take more than one man to disturb her hard-earned peace, and she holds herself still so that he can look his fill. Did the others before her have to answer the same questions? If they did, were their answers similar to hers? She's still thinking about the poor assistants he's gone through when his expression evens out, and she locks her eyes on his as she waits for his decision.

"Then get to work."

It's a little after seven in the morning, and she thanks her lucky stars that she'd put on her favorite comfy sandals instead of impressive heels before coming in. Not that she had expected to start working first thing, but she likes being prepared. She gets to her feet, smooths her hands down the bottom of her blouse to make sure it's still tucked into her pants, and then inclines her head towards her new boss while maintaining her smile.

"Right away, Mr. Meachum."

**09 SEPTEMBER 2019**

**WARD**

"I've got your morning schedule ready for you to review." He looks up as his assistant abruptly stops talking, and he sees her standing halfway across the room. She has a tablet balanced in the crook of one arm, his coffee is gripped in that hand, and she's holding a small phone in her raised hand as if she'd been waving her arm around as she spoke and then just froze. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ward, I didn't know you had company."

"This is Danny Rand. He has a bad habit of sneaking in, so it's not your fault that you missed him." Danny raises his hand to give her a small wave, and his assistant returns it with her trademark smile before continuing to his desk.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Rand." She stops next to Ward's chair, behind his desk because he gave up on telling her not to cross the professional barrier after she'd only been working for him a few days, and she quickly places his tablet in front of him and then hands over his coffee. "Do you want me to reschedule your first meeting? Haskin is a horrible man to start the morning with, and it'll give you more time to prepare for Glenn."

"Don't reschedule. After today, I'll never have to deal with Haskin again so let's get him over with." She's already moving, leaning down to look clearly at his tablet, and he realizes that all of her long pale red hair is free around her. "Put your hair up. Haskin hates people with tattoos and I hate him, so let's piss him off any way that we can."

"You got it, Mr. Ward." She places her phone on his desk as well, and he glances up to see her arms raised and bent as she pulls her hair up. In his office. "It really is wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Rand. Mr. Ward speaks very highly of you. Did your friend like the birthday basket we sent? I baked the cookies myself."

"Yes, she loved everything, but the cookies were her favorite. Thank you, uh-sorry, I don't know your name." Danny's smile is wide, cheeks lightly flushing from embarrassment, and he looks so earnestly apologetic that Ward rolls his eyes before taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Madelaine O'Connor, but everyone calls me Mads. Except for Mr. Ward. He always calls me O'Connor," she says easily. She always talks in a gentle and conversational tone, which he has to grudgingly admit is impressive considering the amount of bullshit that she puts up with.

"Because your nickname is ridiculous. Do you have to do that in here?" He looks up as she looks down, and she pauses with her fingers stuck in a half-braided chunk of hair.

"If I don't do it now, I'll forget before the Haskin meeting. Unless you need me to do something else?" Another grudgingly impressive thing about his assistant? She always has everything in order and perfectly organized to his specifications; he can't recall her making a single mistake, because she really is annoyingly efficient.

"Just don't make a habit of grooming yourself during my meetings." His tone is cutting, but it doesn't have any kind of impact on her happy demeanor.

"I thought Mr. Rand was family?" He can see Danny looking back and forth between them with an amused smile, and she's making quick work of braiding her hair above her neck so she can't see the look.

"He is."

"I am."

"Am I offending you, Mr. Rand?" She twists at the hips so she can see Danny as she asks it, and Ward reclines back in his chair so that he can look up and see the dark shape on the back of her neck. Haskin really does hate people with tattoos, as Ward has discovered after stupidly agreeing to a lunch meeting last week, but the man isn't stupid enough to say anything to Ward's personal assistant.

"Not at all," Danny assures her. "How long have you been working for Ward?"

"Six wonderful months. Mr. Ward didn't think I'd last a week, but here I am." Wonderful? Sometimes he can't help but to wonder if his assistant is on some kind of mind-altering substance; no one with her job should look or sound so genuinely happy, but she has told multiple people how much she enjoys working for him.

"The eight assistants before you didn't last a full week," he reminds her. He came back to work right after returning from China, from Danny's insane adventures, and he'd been ready to get back to something familiar. None of the assistants had been able to keep up with him, or endure him, until O'Connor. He'll never admit it, but he is fond of his assistant. Even when she ignores him.

"Why do you think you've been able to last?" Danny looks serious as he asks the question, as if her answer is of grave importance, and O'Connor finally lowers her arms now that she's done with her hair. The braided mass is secure above the nape of her neck, and his eyes are able to trace over the entire eagle because the back of her shirt is low enough to reveal all of it. The head and body on her nape, the outstretched wings with tips extended to just behind her ears, and the feet and tail stop on her upper back. It's not overly large, but it is noticeable. Haskin is going to blow an artery.

"Because I know that he's a good man, under the yelling and occasional insults. I've lasted because I've never gotten angry at him or let his angry tirades bother me," she says proudly. He can hear it in her voice and see it in the slight lifting of her chin.

"I don't insult you," he's quick to point out. She's never given him a reason to insult her.

"Yesterday you told me to change my blouse because it looked like someone had puked pea soup all over me." Her hands run down the sides of the pale purple blouse she's wearing today, fingers whispering against the thin fabric, as she smiles down at him.

"That wasn't me insulting you. I was helping you." The blouse had been terrible, the color was offensive, and she'd been wearing something different the next time he saw her. Something blue?

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Ward." Her hand lightly pats against his arm, a touch so light that he barely even feels it, and that's another way she's different. None of his other assistants had ever touched him so casually, or without intent, but she never hesitates. "Would you like something to drink, Mr. Rand?"

"Water, please."

"Coming right up. Anything else for you, Mr. Ward?" He takes a quick sip of his coffee, which is exactly as he takes it, and then glances up at her.

"Any breakfast today?"

"I made omelets this morning, it should keep your energy up. I'll bring it in." Despite her short height, she sweeps out of the room quickly. She's efficient, always.

"Your assistant makes you breakfast? Isn't that an abuse of power?" Danny asks once she's gone.

"I've never asked her to. She made a note of me mentioning that I usually don't eat in the mornings, and she offered. She's a good cook." She also cooks dinner, sometimes, whenever he stays at the office late. He keeps trying to send her home at a reasonable time, but she only leaves to cook a meal for them and bring it back in. If he stays, she stays.

"And she baked Jess's cookies? Jess has been looking for those all over the city," Danny says with a little bit of an accusation in his tone.

"I didn't know. I told her to buy some. I'll pass along the message, and she might bake some more." O'Connor is, in a single summed up word, unusual. He's seen her interact with others in the company, always with a bright smile, and he knows that she regularly does little things for her coworkers. She even spent two days last month covering her work schedule and another assistant's, because the man was sick in the hospital. (She covered, and Ward approved the man's usual pay.) If he tells her that someone enjoyed her cookies so much that they've been scouring the city for them, she'll most likely bake some more.

"I also made some oatmeal, Mr. Rand, if you'd like something to eat as well." She speaks as she crosses the office, and she flashes a quick look at Danny before moving things around on his desk so she can sit down the wooden tray holding his breakfast.

"I ate earlier, but thank you." She hums in reply as she straightens the tray, and the omelet looks and smells delicious.

"Twenty minutes before Haskin, Mr. Ward. I'll come back for the tray before the meeting." She's standing next to Danny's chair and Danny's holding a bottle of water, but Ward can't say when she moved because he'd been too busy cutting off his first bite of the omelet. "If you need anything, I'll be at my desk."

"Miss O'Connor?" She stops behind Danny's chair, and Danny turns in the chair to look up at her. Ward's busy eating, so he keeps silent and watches. "Why do you call him Mr. Ward? Shouldn't it be Mr. Meachum or just Ward?"

"Using only his first name doesn't show the proper amount of professional respect, but Mr. Meachum sounds far too impersonal for the man I regularly cook breakfast for." She looks past Danny at him, and he raises a brow in question. "Would you prefer Mr. Meachum?"

"I don't care what you call me." She's always professional around other workers and during his meetings, so he really doesn't care what she calls him when they're the only ones in the room. Or when Danny is around.

"Mr. Ward is a happy medium, so I think I'll stick with it. Anything else?" Ward shakes his head, since he's still trying to eat, and she smiles at them both before turning around and swiftly leaving the room.

"I think she likes you." Danny is slumping down in his chair, and Ward slows his chewing as he takes in the wide childlike grin on Danny's face.

"I think she has a talent for putting up with me." He knows that he's difficult to work for and knows his faults, but O'Connor has a peaceful personality and a work ethic that matches his own.

"I think she likes you," Danny repeats. Ward ignores him in favor of his breakfast; he has a long day ahead of him, and he doesn't want to waste time or energy dealing with Danny's childish daydreams and misconceptions.

**MADS**

The conference room is perfectly prepped. The most comfortable chairs are at one end of the long oval table, for Mr. Ward and Haskin. Her own chair is at the opposite end of the table, with a tablet open so she can take notes during the meeting. A pitcher of water has been prepared and placed a little to the side of where her boss will be sitting, along with four glasses. Her eyes do another quick sweep through, and she squints at the windows. The wall of windows is letting in far too much natural light, and she makes quick work of the controls so that it isn't so bright. With that done, she looks at the temperature panel. The entire building is kept cool, but Haskin is quick to sweat. He'll be more comfortable if she lowers the temperature in the room a little.

"Making it colder for Haskin?" Mr. Ward asks as he walks inside. There are still a few minutes left before Haskin is set to arrive, and she knows that her boss trusts her by now but he's still a bit of a control freak. So she doesn't take offense as he stands in the doorway next to her and quickly scans the room.

"Yes, sir," she says after it's apparent he's satisfied.

"Don't. Let him sweat a little." She ducks her head down, towards her shoulder, to hide her answering smile. Smiling about another person being uncomfortable isn't exactly professional, but Haskin really is a horrible person to deal with first thing in the morning.

"Is there anything else you need for the meeting, Mr. Ward?" His eyes quickly scan over her now, it's part of his usual everything-must-be-perfect routine, and he gives a little nod once he's done.

"Go escort Haskin in. I'll grab what I need and meet you back here." They leave the room together, walking side-by-side, and she notices Mr. Ward looking curiously down at her neck. "Eagle the only tattoo?"

"Only one. Should I duck out real quick and get one on my forehead?" There's a tiny spark of amusement in his expression, the slight softening of his eyes and an uptick of the corner of his mouth, but then he's facing forwards again so that she can't see him.

"Make sure you walk in front of him," he says as he quickly adjusts his cuffs.

"You really don't like him, do you?" She pauses in front of the doorway to his office, and he turns to look at her before walking inside.

"He called me _boy_. He's on the permanent shit list." He disappears into his office, and she turns on her toes to start walking again.

"_That must be the longest list in the history of lists,"_ she thinks as she gets closer to the elevator. She stops to stand a little to the side in front of the large double doors, mostly to avoid being walked into but also so that she doesn't have to stare at her reflection in the overly shiny elevator doors.

"Morning, Mads. How's Mr. Meachum this morning?" Angela asks as she steps forward to press the button on the elevator. Angela is another assistant, a few floors below this one, but they have regularly crossed paths in the six months that Mads has been working at Rand Enterprises.

"He's in a very good mood today," she says and glances at the other woman from the corner of her eye. The tall blonde is already shaking her head in disbelief, but she's smiling.

"I don't know how you do it. You know Kristy? First floor?" When she nods in the affirmative, Angela continues. "She worked for him for two days before he had her in tears."

"The important thing to remember is that he's all bark." That isn't exactly true. He has plenty of bite, but she knows to stay out of his way when he's in a mood. It's a balancing act, and she's very good at it.

"You're a brave woman. Lunch later?" Mads nods before Angela steps onto the elevator, and she dims her smile into something a little more politely professional as she continues waiting.

Her boss is complicated. Cruel and cutting words, sarcasm falling from his lips, laughter that only sounds to insult…the descriptor _asshole_ really does fit him. She can tell that he's a good person, under the insults. She's been around enough people to be able to tell when sharp words are meant to protect themselves rather than truly hurt others; she only knows what she's read in the news and heard around the company, but she knows enough. He's alone. No parents, estranged from his sister, and the only friend she has ever heard him mention is Danny. He doesn't have to be alone, it's a choice that he's made, and he must have a good reason for choosing to distance himself from everyone.

At the end of the day, she respects her boss. He's pushing to make the business better, to do everything better, and he isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. Some of her favorite moments of the day are just watching him think or listening to him think out loud, because she finds the way his mind works fascinating. He thinks so quickly, barely finishing a thought before moving several steps ahead, and he's downright deadly in an argument. She knows it isn't fair to her for him to snap at her whenever he's stressed, but he never attacks her with words. He never says anything about her personally; he keeps his sentences short and barks out orders, but she doesn't feel offended whenever he gets in a mood like that. He usually even apologizes, which is nice of him since he never says anything that needs to be apologized for. He isn't a perfect person, and she wouldn't even call him a nice person. He isn't a bad guy though. He isn't evil.

The elevator doors quietly open and pull her from her thoughts, and she straightens her spine and shoulders as she brightens her smile a fraction. The look is wasted, because Haskin has his head turned towards the man on his left as he laughs. She holds the expression anyway as they step off the elevator together, and both of them stop to look at her. The shorter man smiles politely in recognition, but Haskin's expression has a bit of a leer to it as he slowly looks her over. This is the ninth time that he's seen her in the past six weeks, but she's sure that he doesn't remember her name or possibly even recognize her face.

"Welcome, Mr. Haskin. There is already a room set up for you, if you would please follow me." The whole time she's talking, he's looking down the slight vee of her blouse. It makes her wish that she'd pulled on a turtleneck that morning instead.

"Meachum isn't held up somewhere, is he?" Haskin asks her. Well, Haskin asks her chest.

"Of course not, sir. Your meeting is Mr. Meachum's top priority," she easily lies before turning around. She keeps her head held high, and she feels a little shiver go down her spine as she leads the two men towards the conference room. She knows the tattoo on her neck is easily visible with the way her hair is put up, and Haskin's stare feels like little needles digging into her skin.

The eagle on the back of her neck is the only tattoo she has, she never went through a stage where she felt a need to get a tattoo, and she knows it's a little larger than what's appropriate to showcase in the workplace. Mr. Ward has never seemed to care though. He just cares about efficiency, and apparently about the color of her blouses. She can hear a quiet grunt of disapproval behind her, but she ignores it. The only opinion that matters is Mr. Ward's, since he's her only boss, and he actually wants her to wear her hair up. She's not going to let Haskin's disapproval get to her.

"Top priority, hmm?" The conference room is empty, which means Mr. Ward is probably still in his office, and she turns around to assure Haskin that he'll be with them shortly. She never gets the chance to say anything, because Haskin has moved into her personal space and is glaring down at her. _Down at her_, both literally and metaphorically. "Does a tattooed gutter slut like you even know what the word priority means?"

"Haskin!" Mr. Ward is smiling without warmth as he walks into the room, and she looks down to hide the lingering anger she feels. She can feel heat in her cheeks and spreading down her neck, and the rings on her fingers are practically vibrating as she struggles to maintain control. She can't afford to lose control, to get angry. Besides, punching someone at work isn't very professional.

Mads walks away from the fake smiles and to the far end of the table to take her seat, and she takes a steadying breath as the meeting officially beings.

**WARD**

"O'Connor, take this to my office." He slides his files on top of her tablet, sees her confused expression since he never hands over his notes until after he's had time to review them, and then inclines his head towards the open doorway.

"Of course, sir." He looks away after she steps through the doorway, but Haskin is still watching her walk down the hallway. More accurately, he's still watching the way that her tight slacks mold against the curve of her ass as she walks at a leisurely pace. Haskin's assistant has already left, to go get the car, so it's just the two of them in the conference room.

"One thing before you go." He grabs a fistful of Haskin's shirt and pushes him against the wall with an arm braced across his chest, and watery eyes widen as his jaw goes a little slack. "Don't you ever disrespect my assistant again."

"I know she's pretty and probably a great lay-" Ward starts to see black around the edges of his vision, and Haskin makes a quiet gurgling sound as Ward's hand tightens and causes the man's tie to tighten around his throat. "-but are you really going to assault me for your whore secretary's honor?"

He knows it's not a good idea, can think of ten reasons for why it's a bad idea even as he draws his arm back, but that doesn't stop him from hitting the stupid look off Haskin's face. His fist hits against the soft line of Haskin's jaw, not hard enough to break skin or bone, but it'll be enough to leave a mark that he won't forget anytime soon, and Haskin lets out a loud delayed cry as the pain registers. He tries to roll his shoulders forwards, but Ward's still got a good grip on him and he uses it to slam Haskin against the wall one more time.

"Get out of my building, right now, or I'll escort you out." He makes a point of glancing over his shoulder at the wall of windows before smiling at Haskin, a grin full of teeth, and he pointedly straightens Haskin's tie before taking a step back. Haskin hurries from the room without giving Ward a second glance or saying anything, which is the smartest thing he's ever done.

Ward takes a moment to take a few slow deep breaths, reaches up to smooth his hair down, and then he steps out of the conference room. Haskin is nowhere in sight, which is for the best. Ward spent the entire meeting listening to the incompetent fuck insulting his assistant on a loop in his head, and he can still feel angry tension coiling in his stomach as he starts down the hallway. He has a vague awareness of people moving out of his way as he walks towards his office, which means that some of the anger he's been feeling for the past hour must be showing on his face. There's even a moment where he's sure that someone ducks into a room just to avoid being in his line of sight, so he's not surprised when he reaches his office without anyone trying to stop him. O'Connor is already inside, standing behind his desk as always, and she's arranging his notes so that they'll be easier to review.

"Mr. Ward, I went ahead and added copies of my notes-Mr. Ward? Everything okay?"

Instead of moving around her, like he usually does, he's standing next to her. She's turned to face him, head tipping back because she's never been afraid to meet his eyes, and her brows are slightly furrowed in confusion. He lifts his hand but stops before he can touch her, but she doesn't look upset or uncomfortable so he allows himself to reach out and brush his thumb along her jaw.

"He shouldn't have said that to you, and he never will again," he tells her. When she smiles, he feels her skin shift and slide against where he's still lightly touching her face. His hand is braced under the curve of her jaw, thumb moving next to where her smile is dimpling her cheek, and she tilts her head to the side enough to lean into the touch.

"Thank you, Mr. Ward, but you didn't have to say anything to him." She looks so sincere, and he decides not to tell her that he actually punched and then threatened the disgusting bastard. The hand that's touching her is throbbing with dull pain, but it'll fade soon.

"You are my assistant, and no one talks to my assistant that way." The skin he's touching is growing warmer as her face flushes, and the look in her eyes is a little brighter.

"Did you go all Swayze on him?" she asks. Confusion floods him, blanks his mind for a moment, and her smile holds steady as she explains. "You know, like in Dirty Dancing? No one puts baby in the corner?"

"Are you speaking gibberish?" He knows what she's talking about and can make enough connections to figure out why she's talking about it, but he enjoys the way her nose wrinkles up as amusement seems to pour out of her.

"Maybe. I don't know. I just always wanted someone to say, _no one messes with my girl_," she says and even drops her voice a little. "I'm no one's property, no man is ever going to own me, but I think the sentiment is nice."

"In that case, no one messes with my girl." Her smile fades but the look in her eyes is transformative, so happy that it almost hurts to look at, and then she ducks her head.

"You're the best, boss." Her tone is too gentle, too soft, and he drops his hand as if her skin is burning him.

"Coffee and then we'll review the notes," he says and steps around her.

"You got it, sir."

**MADS**

After several more meetings and following her usual routine, work ends. All of the offices on her floor are dark, except for the lamp on her desk and a slant of light farther down the hall. Her desk is neat and cleaned off, everything important put away until the next morning, and she drops a pen into one of three holders before straightening up. She forgot to grab a jacket that morning, as usual, so the only thing she needs to grab is her bag. She adjusts the strap and gets it situated on her shoulder as she walks down the hallway, and she takes a quick breath before opening the door to Mr. Ward's office. She quickly looks around as she walks inside, and to her surprise he's already cleaning off his desk.

"Early night, Mr. Ward?" she asks as she stops in front of his desk.

"It's after seven," he says absently as he drops files into a drawer.

"Eight, actually, but that's still early for you." He pauses what he's doing to cut his eyes at her, and she softens the teasing in her smile some. "I'm not saying that you're a workaholic or anything, but I am heavily implying it. Leaving early is something you should indulge in more often."

"I'm leaving now, and I'll be back at five." Of course he will be. Mads adjusts the strap of her bag again, a little tick she's had ever since middle school, and then she reaches into the outer pocket for her phone so she can set her alarm for an earlier time.

"Would you like anything specific for breakfast? If you're going to be up working that early, you'll need breakfast," she tells him. He's a smart man, no doubt about it, but he isn't really the best at taking care of himself sometimes. She's not even sure if he'd remember to stop working to eat certain meals if she didn't put the food down in front of him.

"Can you make those chocolate peanut butter pancakes again?" The brief look he gives her is so hopeful that she has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing, and she nods absently to herself and tries not to look at the way her boss's jacket tightens across his shoulders as he packs his bag.

"You'll have them first thing in the morning, sir. I'll make you a berry blast shake to balance them out," she decides. He actually stops and twists around to shoot an angry look at her, but she's learned to tell when he's actually angry versus when he's only playing at being angry. "Don't give me that look. You can't live off of coffee alone, and the shake is good for you. You liked the last one."

"It wasn't horrible," he concedes.

"Thanks for that. See you at five. Goodnight, sir."

Mads quickly leaves the office before he can try to protest, he normally protests whenever she comes in too early or stays too late, but she tends to ignore those protests. If he stays until after midnight, so does she. If he starts his workday at five in the morning, so does she. It isn't like she has anything else that needs her attention, and she likes helping her boss. On the plus side, he's usually still too sleepy when he comes into the office early which means that his asshole-ish-ness hasn't kicked into full gear yet. (Early in the morning, when he's still waking up and the coffee hasn't fully entered his bloodstream yet, his eyes look soft and sometimes he laughs quietly at her dumb morning jokes.) Coming in early isn't exactly fun, but it has its advantages.

It's later at night than when most office workers leave, but she chooses to walk anyway. Since she's going into work early in the morning, she won't have time for her morning run. Because she isn't getting up before four. She's just not. So she's going to get her exercise in by walking to her apartment in Hell's Kitchen, and she ducks into an open store as a quick detour. Berries, chocolate, peanut butter…She's missing a lot of things, so she'll need to go grocery shopping soon. Maybe this weekend she'll get to go, if her boss doesn't work all weekend. Then again, if he does work through the entire weekend again, she'll just go grocery shopping on her lunch break.

With that little task done, she continues on her way home. New York is her home now, Hell's Kitchen is her home and she thinks Rand Enterprises might become home, but it's not her first home. It's not Meadowes, not some small Texan town, but it still has that same _home_ feeling. She knows how to easily weave between hurrying bodies, the same way she knew how to weave under branches in the woods behind her childhood home. Knows the best places to eat, who to smile at and whose eyes to avoid, and places to disappear to when she needs a moment to just _breathe_. One of the best things, that's the same but somehow completely different, is that both of her homes have never felt lonely. In Texas, all she had to do was stand outside and listen to the life that surrounded her whenever she took the time to hear and feel everything inside her that makes a person alive. In New York, there's always people moving and sounds that echo around streets and this kind of energy that she can feel against her skin.

She's been told, more than once, that she's too happy. A coworker at her last job told her that it was impossible for her to be so happy all the time, that she had to be faking most of it. It didn't make her angry, for someone to doubt her. It just made her incredibly sad. She wanted to tell the woman that she hadn't always been this way. There was a time when she walked around with permanent fists and the need to hurt, others or herself didn't always matter, and that she'd been so full of anger that she'd ached with the need to destroy something. There was a time when the only way she could smile was if she was spitting out blood. She only laughed when blood was on her hands and someone else was crying. She'd kept that to herself, in the end, because being happy doesn't mean that she has to give pieces of herself away.

Mr. Ward never comments on her happiness. He doesn't make snide comments about her ever-present smile, he's never once told her to stop looking so damn cheerful all the time, and it's something so small and so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It's important to her though, it's not a small throwaway thing, because as dumb as it may sound being happy is something that she has had to work for. Whoever thinks that peace is easy has never tried it. The point, she thinks as she starts getting closer to her apartment, is that while her boss is an asshole he's always upfront with her. Others that she's worked with and for have been so sweet when talking to her, she calls it the smile effect, but as soon as they think she's out of hearing range they talk about how annoying and fake she is. It's a good thing she discovered how to be peaceful and isn't that angry girl from Meadowes anymore. She thinks that girl would have gotten along with Mr. Meachum. The girl she used to be would have respected him, for his honesty, and probably for his asshole personality. The person she is now respects Mr. Ward, and she's glad that she met him at this point in her life and not before. He's only her boss, but she feels…she feels at ease around him.

She's still imagining that angry girl yelling back at Mr. Ward whenever he's in a mood and struggling not to laugh at the image as she walks into her apartment, and she pauses just inside the doorway to take a deep breath. Pizza. Cheesy, greasy, beautiful pizza. That means that Darcy has let herself in, and that she's been kind enough to bring pizza up with her. Which means that Mads doesn't have to cook dinner tonight. She drops her work bag and groceries onto the table next to the door, toes off her sandals, and quickly walks into her living room to collapse onto the couch next to where her best friend is laser-focused on a documentary playing on the television. She ignores the crazed animal sounds and goes right for the open pizza box on the coffee table, and her eyes roll back as she takes a huge bite out of a slice.

"How was work?" Mads asks after a commercial comes on. Darcy flops back against the cushions so that they're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, and Mads stuffs half a length of crust into her mouth and starts chewing.

"Same as always. People came in, people tried to negotiate prices, and I put those people in their places. Who tries to talk down the price at a thrift store? Everything's already cheap as hell, and there are actual signs all around the store to remind customers about our donations to charity. Some people are just shit," Darcy huffs and crosses her arms over her stomach. "What about you? Another fun day with Meachum?"

"He's really not that bad," Mads mumbles around the food in her mouth.

"He's the worst, and I don't know why you're still working for him." Mads is still chewing, so she just gives Darcy look. Which is apparently a bad idea, because Darcy somehow pops up onto her knees and looks down at her with wide blue eyes. "It's because he's really hot, right? I've seen him in magazines and on the news, and he's definitely pretty. Are you sleeping with the big boss?"

"No!" she yells after nearly choking.

"Yeah, you're too proper for that. You gotta admit though, he's nice to look at." Darcy sinks down a little lower, so that they're nearly on eye-level, and pokes out her bottom lip in a pronounced pout. "C'mon, Madsy, give your girl just one juicy detail."

"Really not appropriate." Pouting lips, eyelashes fluttering, and then a quiet pleading whine. Is there a single person that has ever existed or will exist that can deny a full-out pouting Darcy? Maybe, but Mads isn't among them. "Can you, why am I even saying this? Can you see his arms whenever they manage to get a picture of him?"

"Looks like the arms of a dude in a suit," Darcy shrugs.

"Nuh-uh, Darce, you're missing out. He's got _arms_," she emphasizes. Darcy's mouth forms a small O, and Mads can see her mind already churning.

"The kind of arms that just look firm, or the kind of arms that can pick you up and throw you around a little?" She can feel her face and neck warming, because she really does avoid thinking about her boss inappropriately. It feels disrespectful. This is just a little bit of girl talk though, and she can be honest with herself and Darcy.

"So much more. Combined with the legs and the shoulders, you get the vibe that he doesn't even need the wall to hold you up." The warmth in her face is pure heat now, but she's still smiling as Darcy's expression shifts into surprise.

"Forget big boss. He's been upgraded to Boss Daddy." Mads's laugh is shocked out of her and she reaches up to push at Darcy's shoulder, and her friend topples backwards while giggling.

"Not that it matters, because he's my boss and he really is a good guy," she says as Darcy holds her head up. She isn't going to be able to look Mr. Ward in the eye tomorrow, she can already tell.

"Give me one example of this hidden goodness." She can give a dozen examples, but they all probably only fit her definition of goodness.

"He stood up for me," she says proudly. Darcy raises an eyebrow in question, and Mads isn't even surprised that she wants more details. "So he had a meeting with this really awful guy, the same guy he's been meeting with for weeks and today was the last meeting, and the guy really gives me the creeps. Mr. Ward doesn't like him and the guy doesn't like tattoos, so Mr. Ward asked me to wear my hair up today. Which I did, and it really pissed the guy off. He called me an offensive name before the meeting, I didn't even think Mr. Ward heard him, but he stayed back after the meeting and then told me the guy would never say anything like that to me again."

"So…your boss was a decent human being for five minutes today?" Darcy laughs while Mads rolls her eyes, but she isn't even a little bit upset. Her boss has a well-earned reputation of being not so nice, but he has his moments. She's also not going to tell Darcy about the look her boss gave her as he told her that Haskin would never speak to her that way again, because his look had been all anger and protectiveness. Then afterwards, after she rambled out the Swayze nonsense, he'd looked soft and teasing and all the things he's usually too careful about letting others see.

"He really is a good man. You just have to squint to see it," she says as she stands up. She needs to get the breakfast ingredients in order so she doesn't have to search for them in the morning, and Darcy twists around so that she can watch Mads move around.

"You're cooking breakfast for him in the morning again, aren't you?"

"Yes." A loud sigh, with quiet tsking following behind it, shows Darcy's opinion of that habit. "There's this really big meeting next Monday, it's a huge deal, and I think he's stressing about it. So don't be surprised if I come in late or leave early for the next week. Knowing him, he'll probably live at the office until the meeting is over."

"Late nights, early mornings…Be honest, Mads. Are you staying at the office so you and Boss Daddy can play pick-up?" Darcy laughs as Mads throws an apple at her, it'd been the closest thing within reach, and she takes a bite as Mads continues to glare at her. "It's okay, I'm not judging."

"Please don't talk about Mr. Ward like that." Does she occasionally notice how attractive her boss is? Yes. Is she attracted to her boss? Probably not.

"Aww, that's cute. Mads has a crush. Don't forget to slip a love note into his lunchbox." Mads lets her friend carry on as she rearranges the contents of her cabinets and refrigerator, because she loves Darcy's laugh. Even if it is at her expense.

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**Finis: **That's the end of the first chapter! This story is a bit of a slow-burn, because there will be a slow building friendship before there's any romance. Also, yes, that is Darcy Lewis from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. In the MCU Timeline, this story takes place after Age of Ultron so it's after all the craziness from Thor 2 where Darcy was last seen. If there's any questions about anything, I'd be more than happy to answer them!

Thank you for reading!


	2. That's The Spirit

**Words: **It's taken me a bit, but here's a new chapter! There's a few more chapters already written, so I should be updating again soon.

**Count:** 9720

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**CHAPTER TWO – THAT'S THE SPIRIT**

**15 SEPTEMBER 2019**

**WARD**

"O'Connor, where'd you move the…you can't hear me because you're asleep. You better not be drooling on my couch," he mutters as he stands up.

It's been a hectic week, full of imbeciles and preparations, but his assistant has stuck with him through it all. She shows up early, stays late, keeps his schedule flowing without any problems, and she's been easily rescheduling meetings whenever he reaches the end of his patience with idiocy. She keeps them both fed, on target, and she hasn't let his frustration bother her even once. Not that he has ever taken his anger out on her, he yells and insults whoever happens to be pissing him off in the moment, but none of it is ever directed at her. His anger is never directed at assistants, despite some of the rumors he's heard. They are usually just in the room whenever he happens to get angry, but it doesn't seem to matter that he never yells at them specifically. Whenever his voice raised, the previous assistants had jumped noticeably and some had even ran from the room. Not O'Connor. She just lets him yell himself out, brings him a water, and then asks what they're doing next.

Now it's Sunday night, for the next hour at least, and they've both been up since Friday working. He remembers taking a nap Saturday, but he's not sure if she ever did. He's tried sending her home, multiple times, but the one time she actually left the office she came back an hour later with a plate of ribs. After the meeting tomorrow, he's going to give her the week off. She's earned that much and more, but he knows it'll be a struggle to get her to take even a single day off. Which he realizes should piss him off, or at least annoy him, but it just makes him feel…fond. That's something he rarely admits to himself, but it doesn't make it any less true.

He stops in front of the couch and crosses his arms as he looks down, and she's sleeping so peacefully that he's nearly reluctant to wake her up. She's completely still, not stirring at all, and he doesn't know how she can look so comfortable in that position. It looks as if she'd been sitting up straight, there's still an open folder on her lap, but then it looks as if she fell to the side. So half her body is lying across a seat cushion while her feet are still flat against the floor. Thankfully, her usual slacks and blouse combo has been replaced with shorts and tee shirts this weekend so she's all covered up. He remembers seeing her hair up at some point, possibly with a couple of pencils sticking out of it, but now her long red hair is spread out around her.

"Come on, O'Connor, time to wake up," he says and reaches down. His hand curls around her shoulder so he can give her a light shake, and she makes a quiet sleepy sound before twisting around to lie on her back. Her feet don't move though, and the papers stuffed into the folder on her lap spill onto the floor. He isn't upset at all, but he raises his voice anyway in an attempt to wake her up. "Wake up, O'Connor!"

"Eggs n' sausage are in the microwave," she mumbles. One of her hands raises and flops, as if indicating a direction, and he calls her name a little louder. "C'mon now, Pops. I'll be up in a bit. Go eat your sausage dog."

In her sleepy state, her words are slower. Drawling. Some letters sound as if they've been completely dropped off, _your_ comes out as _yer_, and she grumbles out something unintelligible as she tries to twist enough to face the back of the couch. She has a faint accent, southern if he heard her correctly, and he feels one side of his mouth lift in a smile. Her resume had only listed a New York address, nothing previous, and he hadn't cared to ask about where she'd lived before. He doesn't really care to know now. It's just something about his assistant that he didn't know.

"There are no sausage dogs here, so get up," he says after kneeling down in front of the couch. The leather creaks as her head rolls so that she's facing him, and her eyes peek open into slits.

"Out of dogs?" It comes out as _outta dogs_, and he gives in to the impulse to sweep her hair off her face. Some hair stubbornly clings to her lashes, so he has to curl his fingers under and actually tuck them behind her ear to get them out of the way.

"All out," he says as his thumb brushes across the swell of her cheek. "Now get up, O'Connor. We both need to get some sleep for tomorrow."

"I was dreaming about sausage." Her tone is full of confusion, and her eyes widen as she starts to really wake up. He hates that he thinks she looks even a little bit adorable in her sleepy state, but it's the only word he can really think of as she continues to look at him.

"I know. Something about sausage dogs?" He offers her a hand once he's standing up straight again, and she lets him pull her up off the couch as she smiles in embarrassment.

"My grandfather's favorite breakfast. I didn't drool, did I?" She's still holding onto his hand, loosely so he can pull away whenever he wants, and her free hand quickly passes over her lips. He doesn't answer that question though.

"Time to call it a night, O'Connor. Go home and get some real sleep," he tells her. He means it this time too, and he's planning on doing the same.

"Mhmm, and a real dinner too. I'd kill for some hot food right now," she sighs. They'd had lunch earlier, some sorry-looking sandwiches compared to what he's used to O'Connor bringing him, and food does sound like a good idea. A really good idea, going by the dull ache in his stomach, and he doesn't hate his assistant's company.

"How about a late dinner? I know a few places that are still open." She blinks as she looks up at him, and her head tilts to the side the smallest amount as she studies him.

"Are you asking me out to dinner, boss?" Her smile and the look in her eyes gives her an innocent expression, but he can hear the teasing in her voice.

"I'm offering to buy you food to say thank-you for working this weekend," he fully clarifies.

"Not necessary, but I'm not going to turn down free food. As long as you're sure?" She seems almost surprised at the offer, which makes him feel…something that he can't easily identify. It's not shame, it's not that heavy feeling that burns his stomach and throat, but it feels close. Like something milder. The one person who is regularly kind to him, kind enough to bring him home-cooked meals, is surprised that he'd offer to _buy_ her food.

"I'm sure. Let's clean up and get out of here." He has become used to her smiles, quick and bright, but the easy looks are still a shock. Especially because he can tell just how genuine the expressions are.

She releases his hand and turns around, up on the ball of her foot and not her heel, and he steps back as she kneels down to start picking up the fallen papers. He walks over to his desk, which is covered with carefully typed notes and messily scrawled ideas, and he knows it won't take long to clean everything. Between the two of them, it takes less than twenty minutes to get his entire office in order and have it look like it hasn't been disturbed since the end of the work day last Friday. As if they haven't spent the entire weekend junking up his office as they worked. He decides, then and there, that O'Connor can come into work in her pajamas with wild messy hair as long as she stays this efficient and occasionally brings him breakfast.

Once they're through and she's standing in front of the office door, he notices her pat her front pocket and nod once before looking across at him with her usual smile. She looks like she's all done, all ready to go, but that can't be right. There isn't a single bag in sight, certainly not the large canvas bag that is always barely hanging onto her shoulder whenever she stops in before leaving. There's not even a purse, not even a small one, anywhere in sight. She's simply standing in front of the desk, in loose shorts and a thin tee shirt with her usual sandals, and she's not even wearing a jacket.

"Bag? Jacket?" he asks. Neither of them is going to come back to the office tonight, so she needs all of her things. She slowly shakes her head though, and her unbound hair falls over her shoulders and against her cheeks.

"No bag today. Wallet and keys are in my pocket, zipped for safety." She pauses there to raise her right leg and pat said-pocket, the zipper tab rattles quietly, and then she puts her weight onto both feet again before she can topple over. "As for the jacket, I keep forgetting to grab one."

He won't need his bag for the rest of the night, it'll be a nice change to go home without files for once, so he grabs his own jacket and walks out into the open space of his office. O'Connor turns when he gets close and reaches out for the knob, and he makes a quiet sound of protest as he reaches out and grabs her wrist. She stops with her other hand halfway done with turning the knob and glances up over her shoulder, and he lets her wrist go and holds up his jacket with a pointed look. He sees her mouth fall open into a small O of surprise, always surprised whenever he does something that is considered decent by most people, but she quickly gets over it. She holds still as he slips the jacket up her arms and onto her shoulders, and she quickly opens the door and slips out into the hall.

"You know, I go through life thinking that I'm average-sized. Wearing this? I feel like a little kid playing dress-up." Her amused tone fills the empty hallway, and he looks over to see her holding the lapels of the jacket out with a small smile. His jacket does look comically oversized on her, the bottom of it hangs down even lower than her shorts, and she flaps the end of a sleeve until it slides down enough to show her fingertips.

"You should try wearing heels." She presses the button for the elevator, which immediately opens, and he follows her inside.

"And blister my feet so I can trick people into thinking that I'm a few inches taller? No thanks. I'll just be short," she says with a quiet laugh. When he turns to the side, fully facing towards her, she mimics the movement and raises her chin to look up at him. He holds his hands out and motions for her hand with a quick waving motion of his fingers, and she instantly holds both hands up between them.

"How short exactly?" Now that he's paying attention, she does look shorter than average. He's sure that his other assistants had been a little bit taller, that he hadn't had to look down quite as much. Before she starts to answer, he reaches out and starts rolling up one sleeve so that it will stop slipping down to cover her hand.

"Only five feet. My license says five-one, but that's a lie. In my bare feet, I'm only five feet tall." The first sleeve is done, so he moves on to the next one.

"You are child-sized." The words aren't said with malice, but even he can hear how dry his tone is. No that it seems to bother her. She just keeps right on smiling.

"Fun-sized, actually, but you have no room to talk. You're a giant walking amongst normal-sized people." The second sleeve is done, and she easily moves out of the elevator as soon as the doors slide apart.

"Maybe, but you're not normal-sized either," he says as he walks off the elevator after her. She looks like she's swimming in the fabric, but he's still worrying that she'll get cold. Her legs are still bare, and he can feel how cold the air is as they step outside.

"Now that'll wake you up." She takes in an exaggeratingly deep breath, head tipping back, and he can only see the faint curve of her smile as she stands at the edge of the sidewalk. "How close is the restaurant? Can we walk?"

"Within walking distance, but it's cold. I'll call for a car," he decides.

"If you're cold, you can have the jacket back." She sounds so sincere and hopeful, like she won't mind shivering if it means they can walk in the cold air.

"I'm not cold." Her nose wrinkles up in confusion, which is an odd combination with her overly bright smile. "This way then."

The two of them are quiet as they start walking down the sidewalk, and he can see her looking all around them with a continuously curious expression. She looks like someone who has never seen the city before, as if everything is new and beautiful to her eyes, but she always seems to have that quality about her. She always seems so happy, at ease, peaceful. It can't be an act, because he's caught her smiling and even humming quietly to herself when she thought he wasn't paying attention. Maybe, if she puts up with him long enough, some of that happiness she seems to carry around might transfer to him. He must make a sound at the thought, because she turns to look up at him with that same curious expression and raises an eyebrow.

"Everything okay, Mr. Ward?" Always professional. Even while crossing boundaries, like bringing him berry shakes when he asks for coffee, she's professional.

"Please, stop calling me Mr. Ward. Not tonight and not when we're alone. If we're in a meeting, it's Mr. Meachum. Any other time, it's just Ward." He can't even remember when she first switched from Meachum to Ward, but he knows that she has never once dropped the "Mr." title.

"Does that mean you'll stop calling me O'Connor?" Her eyes are too bright and hopeful, but he nods anyway. She looks elated at first, nearly cartoonish, but then her eyes narrow up at him. "You're going to call me Madelaine, aren't you?"

"I am not going to use that ridiculous nickname." She sighs quietly and steps to the side to avoid being rundown by some idiot shouting into his phone, and he grabs her arm before she can knock him over. When she grins up at him in gratitude, he rolls his eyes where she can see and then slips his arm through hers.

"I think my last name might be better than my first name. Mads isn't that bad, is it?" Her fingers are curled under the bend of his elbow, and it's a little amusing to see how she has to reach up to keep their arms linked.

"It's awful. You really let people call you that?" he asks her. They're getting close to the restaurant now, but he keeps his steps slow and steady no matter how strongly hunger causes him to ache.

"I didn't even know Madelaine was my real name until I started kindergarten, because everyone called me Mads. Family, neighbors, doctors at checkups. You're the first person to ever complain about my nickname." She's still smiling, always smiling, and she grips his arm a little tighter as she carefully maneuvers around a box overflowing with trash.

"You really dislike your full first name?" Despite the smile, she seems…off. Not quite sad but something close.

"I only ever heard my full first name whenever I had done something wrong. Hearing it meant I had disappointed my dad or granddad, usually both." She speaks quietly, and it's odd how she manages to sound both somber and wistful as she explains. He pulls them to a stop outside of their destination, and he waits for her to pull away but she stays close to his side instead.

"As long as no one else is around to hear me say it," he starts and finally looks down at her. Her smile is growing again, causing her cheeks to fill out and dimple, and she rocks up onto her toes as he draws out the pause. "I'll call you Mads."

"Really?"

"On a trial basis. Let's get some food." She nods, hair bouncing, and he escorts her inside.

They walk into the restaurant arm-in-arm, and the bright-eyed hostess's smile falters as she takes in what O'Connor _(Mads)_ is wearing. They come to a stop in front of the wide podium, and the hostess recovers herself as she looks at Ward again. This is a restaurant he visits regularly, where he has a table permanently reserved, and he makes himself smile at the hostess. It's almost nauseating to see her politely professional expression shift into something else so he quickly says, "Meachum, table for two."

"Of course, sir." The hostess pauses and looks at Mads again, at the cheap-looking clothes under his too big jacket and worn-looking sandals, and Ward leans to the side so that half of his body blocks his assistant from view.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, sir! Right this way." Mads presses a fist against her mouth to stifle her laughter as the hostess hurries off, and Ward easily follows behind the embarrassed woman. They're led to a table in a far corner of the room, away from another group that is out dining late, and Mads grins as he pulls his jacket off of her and hands it to their hostess.

"You were mean to her, which was rude because I think she liked you," Mads accuses after the woman has hurried away. He finishes pulling her chair out and then slides it under her as she sits down, and she immediately props her elbows on the tabletop to lean forwards so she can whisper as he takes his seat across from her. "Did you bring me to a fancy restaurant with a dress code? Because I am wearing thrift store clothes, and the pretty hostess is wearing a dress that looks like it was made around her body. Is that a thing?"

"I pay you enough that you can afford new clothes," is the only thing he can think to say. He's certainly not going to address anything else she just said. Her nose wrinkles as her eyes narrow, but he can't take the glare seriously when she's still smiling.

"I bought these before I started working for you, not that that's the point. I saw them, I liked them, I got them." He starts to answer but stops as a waiter appears at their table, and she shifts so that one fist presses against her cheek as she looks up at their young waiter.

Ward orders water for them, since he avoids drinking wine at dinner now along with various other alcoholic substances, and his assistant doesn't protest as he orders for both of them. The waiter smiles at them benignly as he lays down the menus, and he promises to be right back with their drinks before quickly walking off. He sees Mads's eyes track the waiter's movement, and he's about to make a comment about her being inappropriate when he realizes that she isn't looking at the waiter at all. She's looking at the other people in the restaurant, seated on the other side of the room, and she sits up straight with a little bit of color showing in her cheeks. He doesn't think she's embarrassed, but she does look a little uncomfortable and her smile disappears as she looks away.

"Mads." Her hands stop fidgeting on the tabletop as he covers them with one of his, palm and fingers easily covering her tightly laced hands, and her eyes are wide as she looks at him. "You have every right to be here. More than they do."

"Her dress is so sparkly though," she whispers with wide eyes. Ward doesn't even bother with turning to see who she's talking about, because it doesn't matter.

"And you worked all weekend with an asshole boss. I think you've earned a good dinner." Her smile returns, still too small, and her eyes meet his instead of looking down at the table.

"No one calls _my_ boss an asshole. Including you." He actually wants to smile at that, because he's sure that people mention what kind of person he is while talking to her all the time. He knows how much the assistants gossip and complain about their bosses, and he doesn't care what they talk about as long as they keep it to themselves and don't gossip in front of clients. Some of what he's thinking must be showing, because her smile drops completely as her expression turns serious. "I mean it, Mr. Ward. Whenever someone mentions anything about your character, I set them straight."

"You stand up for me in the break room?" Her hands relax under his, the tension in her shoulders eases, and one side of her lips quirks up into a small smile.

"Break room, hallway, elevator. You've been a good boss, Mr. Ward, and I don't mind letting others know it." That's almost…sweet.

"What are you supposed to call me?" Her bright smile fully returns, the one that looks perfectly natural on her, and one of her hands flips over to briefly squeeze his.

"You're a good boss, Ward."

He really isn't, he has very clear memories of past assistants bursting into tears in his office, but he doesn't bother correcting her. If she wants to believe that, he doesn't see the point in arguing. He pulls his hand away and leans back in his chair as their waiter brings the water, and he orders first to give her time to look over the menu. Once he's done, she orders a medium rare steak and then smiles brightly at their waiter. After they're left alone again, she looks back down at the menu with a confused expression twisting her features.

"Something wrong?" he asks her. He can see the people on the other side of the room now. Glittering gowns, tailored tuxes, young twenty-somethings that laugh too loud. He would rather dine with his assistant any day.

"Where are the prices? The steak isn't too pricey, is it?" she asks and looks at him. He laughs. He doesn't mean to, but her expression is so serious and worried that he can't really help himself. "Laugh it up, Big Boss. Rich people are so weird."

"You know, most people don't worry about how much their free meal costs," he tells her. She's leaning back now with her arms crossed, nose raising into the air just a little bit with her head turning away, but he can see her peeking at him from the corner of her eye. "Earned it, remember? It's the least I can do after all the meals you've made for me."

"I like cooking," she says as her stiff posture eases. "I don't think I ever really learned how to cook for just one person, so I don't mind bringing in breakfast or dinner every now and then."

"Sausage dogs for your grandfather?" he prompts. He normally doesn't care about the personal lives of his assistants, but she's easy-going enough that conversation is easy.

"Among other things. My dad was Major O'Connor, U.S. Marine, so my granddad looked after me whenever Dad had to be away. Pops was great, a retired Marine too, and he taught me how to cook. Also how to shoot and sew. No one was as steady with a needle or a rifle as Pops." The more she talks, the quieter her voice becomes and her drawl sounds a little more pronounced. He notices that she doesn't mention her mother, and he has enough tact not to ask.

"Sounds like an interesting childhood." She's facing towards him again, all mock anger completely gone, and she looks perfectly at ease again.

"It really was. How many people can say that they've had a Marine Colonel paint their nails?" she asks and lazily waves a hand through the air. Her nails are painted a pale blue, they are always painted, and he can't picture a retired soldier teaching a little girl how to apply nail polish. "Pops and Dad were great. They were completely lost sometimes, raising a girl, but I think I turned out okay."

"You're not awful." Her laugh is soft, quiet and muted compared to the loud echoing laughter across the room, and he surprises himself when he leans towards the sound.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me. I'll have to put it on my headstone. Ward Meachum thought Mads O'Connor wasn't awful." He feels his lip trying to curl at the sound of that horrible nickname, which only causes her to laugh softly again.

"You can't use my name without permission." He's trying to remember if he has ever complimented his assistant, but he's drawing a blank. He'll think about fixing that later.

"You gonna sue a corpse?" she asks around a wide smile.

"It'd be easier to just replace the headstone." The morbid topic doesn't seem to bother her, and it feels good to not having to constantly worry about sticking to proper topics. It's nice to talk about something with no meaning whatsoever. It almost feels like banter between friends. "I could make it sound classier. _Here lies Mads O'Connor. Purveyor of thrift stores and dinner prices."_

"Funny you should mention that. I did leave a little something off of my resume." She's smiling almost sheepishly, on the edge of embarrassment, and she reaches out for her water glass as he looks patiently at her.

"Should I tell security that they're lacking in their background checks?" The glass is returned to the table after she takes a quick sip, and her fingers drum against the tabletop as she nervously meets his eyes. In all the months she's been working for him, he's never once seen her look nervous.

"No, it's nothing bad. It's just, I inherited some money before I moved to New York. So I rolled into town with a pretty good sum and no ideas about a future. I bought this three-story building in Hell's Kitchen, right? Not a very big building or anything. I turned the third floor into my apartment, the second floor is also an apartment, and I converted the ground floor into a small store." She looks away as she pauses and then takes a quick sip of water, but she raises her chin and looks into his eyes before she continues speaking. "A thrift store, actually. Or secondhand store, if you prefer. It's called _New 4 You_, and it's been open for the past five years now. It gets pretty steady business."

"You own a store. In Hell's Kitchen." She nods and doesn't back it up with a verbal answer, but the nod is enough for him. "If you own a store, why are you working as my assistant?"

"My friend actually runs the store, we co-own it now, and she's way better at it than I was. Those first few months were a disaster until she took over. As for the assistant thing, that's something I am good at. It's also better than just sitting around and doing nothing. Plus, I'm not sure if you'd ever have another assistant if I decided to quit."

"There's a possibility of you being right about that." His assistant owns a store, a thrift store but that's beside the point, and she still works extra hours for him?

"You're not going to fire me, are you? Because I would never let the store distract me from my job as your assistant. Darcy keeps things running smoothly anyway and-" She stutters to a stop when he raises his hand, effectively cutting her off, and her eyes are wide and round as she waits for him to speak.

"You're the best assistant I've ever had. I'm not going to fire you." She falls back against her chair with a quiet sigh, and he's surprised that she actually looks relieved. He's had assistants that were relieved when he fired them, but this is the first time he's ever been in the opposite situation.

"Best boss, Ward. I mean that," she says and aims one of her bright smiles right at him. He's saved from replying as their waiter returns with their food, and she sits up straighter in her chair with childlike excitement in her eyes as the steak she ordered is placed in front of her.

From that point, their conversation carries on in fits and starts. They are both clearly hungry, since neither one of them really says a word for the next five minutes, and he lets her carry most of the conversation when they do decide to speak. She doesn't try to pry into his private life like his usual dinner guests do, so he doesn't have to keep his guard up. She mostly tells him stories about the people who have come into her store, the ones that cause trouble and the ones that she's always happy to see as well as anecdotes including the co-owner, and the meal is pleasant as she talks in a slightly accented tone and waves her fork around for emphasis.

It's the best meal he's had outside of the office in months, until she stops speaking. At first he thinks it's just because she's focused on eating, but she's pushing food around her plate when he looks up. She's also sitting back in her chair, not forwards and nearly leaning on the table like she had been, and her shoulders are curled forwards like she's trying to make herself smaller. Her hair, which had been tucked behind her ears and pushed away from her face, is now hanging over one shoulder and acting as a curtain between her and the rest of the restaurant. When he notices that is around the same time that he notices the piercing laughter is a little bit louder and a little bit closer than before.

"-ight back. Just wanna ask 'er," Ward hears right before someone stumbles to a stop next to their table. He isn't even sure if the boy standing next to their table is old enough to drink, but he can smell the fumes wafting off of him as he smiles drunkenly down at Mads.

"Can we help you?" Mads asks politely. Too politely. Ward is tempted to kick the lumbering idiot in the teeth.

"Me and my buddy were just wondering, how much do you cost for the night? He says it has to be a lot for them to let you in here, but I think." The boy pauses and reaches out, and he sees Mads shrink back in her chair as clumsy fingers twist around some of her hair. "I think you don't even cost a hundred. So how much is the old suit losing tonight?"

Ward easily grabs the hand touching Mads, moves it away from her hair, and then tries not to smile as the idiot screeches when his arm is twisted behind his back. He keeps one hand locked around the idiot's wrist and held halfway up his back while his other hand grabs a fistful of the material over his shoulder, and he can hear the guy yelling about calling his father as Ward marches him across the restaurant. He can hear Mads calling his name, but she doesn't need to worry. He isn't going to actually hurt the idiot, unless he does something else. Right now he's just escorting the idiot out.

"Mr. Meachum!" It isn't the waiter or the hostess calling his name, but it is an older man in a suit. Possibly the restaurant manager. He sees one of the girls mouth his name with a pale face, so they recognize his name even if they don't recognize his face, and he pushes the idiot out of the front door before quickly turning around. The idiot's other clearly drunk friends immediately move out of the way and look down to avoid meeting his eyes, but he barely pays them any attention as he walks back to where Mads is still sitting at their table.

"Are you okay?" he asks as he kneels next to her chair. Her eyes are still too wide, and he doesn't like the look on her face. She looks more natural with a smile; the wide eyes and pale color make her look _less_, and he suddenly wishes that he'd knocked the idiot's teeth out.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You didn't have to, you know, do all that." Her hand waves a little, to emphasize what she means by _that_, and he reaches up. He doesn't grab her hand, not after that idiot just touched her without permission, but she easily slides her hand into his before he can pull back.

"He shouldn't have touched you." His assistant is a good person. She puts up with him without complaint, brings him meals despite him never asking her to, and she always has a kind thing to say. She doesn't deserve some drunken idiot pawing at her and accusing her of-His train of thought grinds to a halt as her other hand covers the back of his, and she tries to smile at him but can't hold the look for longer than a second.

"It's okay, Ward, really. Thank you for standing up for me." This time her smile lasts a little longer, but he can still see those drunk-clumsy fingers reaching for her.

"Mr. Meachum, I am so sorry-"

"You damn right you are," he says as he quickly stands up. He starts to take a step towards the restaurant manager, but Mads is still holding onto his hand and it holds him back.

"It's not his fault, Ward. He didn't ask for rude customers, so let's go easy on him. Okay?" He looks down at her, at the slight pleading in her eyes, and tries to let the tension in his shoulders bleed out as he turns to look back at the restaurant manager.

"You're lucky my girl is a better person than I am." He squeezes Mads's hand before letting go and walking back to his chair, and the clearly relieved manager smiles widely down at Mads.

"Thank you, kind miss, and I truly apologize for what you had to witness. I assure you, those guests have been permanently banned from my establishment." Ward snorts, because he knows that money opens doors, but the restaurant _owner_ doesn't look away from Mads. "Your meal will be taken care of, as well as any dessert that you wish to order."

"Do you have anything with chocolate and peanut butter?" she asks without hesitation.

"I'll have a cake sent right out." The owner smiles at Mads and avoids Ward's eyes before leaving the table, and she looks fully amused as she turns to look at him.

"Something funny?" he asks her. Her hair is tossed behind her again, so he can clearly see her face, and she continues to smile as she slowly nods her head.

"You know you just gave him the completely wrong impression, right?" she asks and uses her thumb to point in the direction that the manager just walked off in. He raises a brow but doesn't voice his confusion, and she leans forwards and lowers her voice. "You said _my girl_ in reference to me, which is going to give him the wrong idea. You should consider clearing that up."

"I said that?" When did he have the chance to say that? He only said two things to the owner, and…right, the second thing. Something about his girl being a better person than him. Mads is in no way his, outside of the work environment, but she is a better person than him.

"You really did. Pretty sure you don't want gossip spreading that you're dating your secretary, or a hooker. What about me says hooker anyway?" she asks and glances down at herself. The tee shirt she's wearing completely covers her upper body, her shorts are a modest length, and there's nothing about her to suggest that she fits the stereotype of a hooker.

"It's not my reputation you should be worried about. Everyone would start gossiping about poor little O'Connor, shacking up with her evil boss." He lets one corner of his lips pull up into a smile, and she playfully narrows her eyes in a glare.

"None of that talk. You're a great catch and anyone would be lucky to be with you." Her smile is so damn _sincere_ despite the teasing tone, and she doesn't pull back when he reaches across the table.

"I don't date employees." Her hands are so small in his, palms and fingers rough with calluses while the backs of her hands are smooth, and his thumb circles around a freckle that stands out against the center of her hand.

"I don't date employers." His hands aren't used to any kind of hard labor, but they look rough against hers. Poorly matched. She doesn't pull back though. "How about friends? Are you friends with employees?"

"No," he answers automatically. He catches the hurt expression on her face before she can bury it, and his thumbs press down because he thinks she's finally going to pull away even though she hasn't moved at all. "I think I'll make an exception this time. The boss is allowed to do that."

"An exception, huh?" Doesn't she know it's a bad idea to give away genuine smiles so freely?

"Don't let it go to your head, Mads." He can see the waiter coming their way, so he releases her hands and sits back.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ward."

The waiter is quick. He gathers their dinner plates and sits down a single plate with a giant slice of cake on it in record time, and the young man actually smiles when Mads quietly thanks him. It doesn't escape his notice that the waiter avoids his eyes, but he doesn't care because his assistant is looking at the dessert like she's just won the lottery. She quickly plucks a fork from the tabletop, but she pauses before the tines touch the chocolate and peanut butter monstrosity.

"Decide it's not up to your standards?" he asks as she looks at him.

"As much as I would love to shovel this whole thing into my mouth, I'd like it better if you halved it with me." With a quiet sigh, he sits up straighter and grabs his own fork. When she grins in triumph and holds her fork up a little higher, he copies the movement and lets her clink the utensil against his before they both dig in.

He has to admit that the first bite is amazing, the taste reminds him of the pancakes she occasionally brings in, but his quick-smile reaction is nothing compared to hers. The sound she makes is downright _indecent_, and he's been witness to enough poorly attempted seduction techniques to tell that her quiet moan is completely genuine. Her eyes are closed as she savors the dessert, and she doesn't pay him any mind as she hurriedly cuts off another piece and brings it to her mouth.

The fire that shoots through him is a shock as she makes another one of those quiet sounds. Heat curls in his stomach and stiffens his cock, and he locks his jaw as he tries to bury the reaction. He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't date employees, and he doesn't fuck them either. Thinking of her that way, as an assistant who will easily jump into bed with her boss, doesn't feel right. Feels like an insult to her, and he really does try not to insult her.

"_Stop thinking like a dirty old man."_ He doesn't think their age difference is substantial, possibly only a few years, but the thought has the desired effect of acting like a cold bucket of water.

"Do you think they'd give me the recipe for this?" His eyes open, he doesn't even remember closing them, and she's looking across the table at him. There's a sizable chunk missing from the slice of cake, so she's been busy, and he tells himself that he feels nothing as she absently licks a crumb off of her bottom lip.

"I highly doubt it, but don't let that stop you from asking." Her eyes narrow in a mock glare, and she points her fork at him as she grins and glares.

"You know what your problem is?" she asks. He leans forward, elbows balancing on the tabletop like he'd always been told not to do, and he realizes that he's still loosely holding onto his own fork.

"What's that?" Amusement. He feels amusement as they pretend to scowl at each other, and that is why he doesn't want to feel any kind of heat for her. He thinks, maybe, that his assistant can actually be his friend. Which is something that he doesn't really have. (He isn't counting Danny, because Danny is family.)

"You're too pessimistic. Just once, look on the brighter side of things. Try, I don't know, enjoying the little things." She waves the fork as she talks, and he hums as he spears a large piece of the cake. "That's the spirit!"

They lapse back into silence as they finish off the cake, and she sits back in her chair with a satisfied sigh when it's gone. She doesn't seem uncomfortable with him just looking at her silently, and he realizes that her eyes are drooping. Calling for his car only takes a few seconds, and she looks half-asleep in her chair as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He feels more than a little tired himself, and he knows that they both have to be back at the office in a few hours to start the work week all over again. So he reluctantly waves a hand to motion for someone to bring his jacket back, and it barely even takes a minute for their waiter to come clear their table and for the manager to personally bring his jacket back.

"Hold still," he says quietly as his assistant tries to walk off. They're outside of the restaurant now, and the air feels even colder now. She jerks to a stop and moves just enough to help him put his jacket on her, and he pulls the front of it close together in an effort to make sure she'll stay warm. He doesn't need her getting sick until after the meeting tomorrow.

"Oh, you should have just kept the jacket. I'll get a ride home, and I don't wanna accidentally steal it. It feels expensive." She blinks rapidly as she looks up at him, like she's trying to wake herself up, and he sees her fingers fumbling against the zippered pocket of her shorts.

"I'm taking you home, Mads." When she just continues to look up at him with a confused expression, he bends forwards a little and makes sure to hold eye contact. "I am not going to lose sleep wondering if my assistant died before making it home."

"You're a real gentleman, sir." He keeps his comments to himself as his car stops at the curb, and he quickly walks forward to hold the door open. She easily slips inside the car, and she tells his driver her address as he closes the door and gets settled.

She's quiet during the drive to Hell's Kitchen, but he notices that her eyes are open and alert. She even sits up straighter as the car starts to slow, and he looks out of his window in mild curiosity. Streetlights allow him to read the sign hanging over a doorway, _New 4 You_, but it's too dark for him to really see anything. He opens the door and slides out, and she quickly follows after him. The building does have three stories, but it looks very narrow. When he looks away from the building, he realizes that she has already pulled his jacket off and is holding it out to him.

"Get some sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow." He thinks about asking her if she wants him to send a car for her in the morning as he takes his jacket back, but he knows it's a lost cause without even asking. She'll say no, and he'll respect that.

"Goodnight, Ward." She smiles at him one last time before hurrying across the street and then disappearing into the building, and he gets back into his car and lays the jacket across his lap.

"_Goodnight, Mads."_

**MADS**

She tries to be quiet as she walks into her home, but Darcy is already sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her. The smile on her friend's face is both teasing and genuinely happy, and Mads collapses into the chair across from her with a tired sigh. She feels absolutely exhausted, but she feels good too. Even though she knows that Darcy is about to mercilessly question her. She can tell because of the way that her blue eyes seem to sparkle as their gazes lock.

"You were gone all weekend," Darcy says in place of a greeting.

"I came home to sleep. You must have missed me coming and going." She slipped into her home to sleep and shower, but she really did spend most of the past weekend at the office.

"Uh-huh, so…is the sex super hot?" Mads groans and presses her cheek against the table, and she realizes that she could probably fall asleep right on top of her kitchen table. "Damn. That good?"

"I am not sleeping with my boss." It seems like everyone has one of two assumptions when it comes to her relationship with her boss; that she either absolutely hates him and is a saint for dealing with him, or that she's sleeping with him.

"So what have you been doing all weekend?" Darcy is lying on the table too, cheek pressing against the cool surface so that their eyes can still meet, and talking to Darcy is easy. The other woman is her best friend, has been ever since they met in the store downstairs years ago, so she easily starts talking about her weekend.

Darcy looks bored out of her mind most of the time, until Mads gets to the end. Her eyes grow wide as Mads tells her about the restaurant and everything that happened, and it's like a weight is being lifted off of her the more she talks. For one, Darcy keeps quiet and doesn't make any comments when Mads talks about how nice Ward had been. (It had been his own brand of niceness, but she's still counting it.) Then she moves on to the drunken rich boy, and Darcy jumps into a straight sitting position when she repeats what he said to her.

"I got so angry that I lost control," Mads whispers. It was a good thing that Ward marched the guy out of the restaurant, because all attention had been on him and not on her floating silverware. (It's hard for her to be sure, since she has piss-poor control to start with, but she thinks her abilities were trying to stab the guy who was perceived as a threat.) She pushes that thought aside though and sits up to look at Darcy. "I calmed down really quickly though, so no one saw anything."

"How'd the boss take everything?" Darcy looks worried, but she doesn't comment on Mads's brief loss of control. Which is definitely appreciated.

"Pretty well. I think he came close to breaking the guy's arm, but all he did was throw him out. Then the restaurant owner apologized, made our meal free, and gave us a free dessert."

"Like Meachum couldn't afford it?"

"It was the owner's way of apologizing, and the dessert was delicious." If she closes her eyes, she can still taste the peanut butter and chocolate on her tongue.

"Even with your filthy rich and admittedly pretty boss being all chivalrous, not even a tiny spark of attraction?" Darcy holds her hand up with her thumb and forefinger held close together, and Mads shakes her head with a smile. (She already slipped once by talking to Darcy about how her boss is physically attractive. She's not going to tell Darcy now that her boss really does fill out his suits in a very distracting way, or that she sometimes catches herself eyeing the length of his legs and the width of his shoulders. Because none of that matters. He's her boss, and possibly her friend.)

"Do you remember what happened the last time I had an orgasm?" Mads asks with a raised brow. It'd been embarrassing at the time, but now it's something that they both laugh over. Only them though, because there is no way that Mads is ever going to tell anyone else about that little incident.

"Well, yeah, but you replaced the bed," Darcy says and dismissively waves her hand.

"That's it! Outta my house! Go on now! Shoo!" Mads chases her laughing friend out of her house, and she's still a little out of breath as she climbs the stairs that lead up to her loft bedroom.

"_Starting tomorrow, no more inappropriate boss thoughts."_

**16 SEPTEMBER 2019**

**WARD**

"Sir?"

"We're alone, Mads." He's reclined back in his chair, eyes closed, and it sounds like his assistant is sitting on his couch. They were finishing up for the day, at a reasonable time for once, and he guesses that they both decided it's time to take a quick break.

"Ward?" Mondays are always hectic, but this one has seemed particularly brutal after spending the weekend at the office. They both showed up early this morning, despite their late dinner the night before, and jumped straight into work. This is the first time they've both been still all day.

"What?" If they can get everything in here put away, they can call it a day. Start fresh in the morning.

"You don't have a personal masseuse I could borrow, do you? Just for my feet? Ten minutes, tops." The clipped professional tone that he's heard all day is gone, replaced with her quieter drawl, and he forces his eyes to open. She's sitting back against the couch, eyes tightly closed like she's fighting off a headache, and she's slipped off her shoes so that her bare feet are being held a few inches off the ground.

"On call? No." Her sigh is sad and a little mournful, and he catches himself trying to smile. "I'm sure I could get you into a good spa."

"Mmm, that would be a fun way to spend the afternoon. I'm sure the rich ladies wouldn't be too happy about a poor person like me being there though." Now she sounds amused, and his eyes open fully as he sits up straight.

"You're not poor though." She must hear the change in his tone, because her eyes open and her head turns towards him.

"There's a huge difference between not being poor and being rich. I'm doing okay, but I'm not a millionaire. I still come from a small town in Texas, I still wear used clothes, and I am completely okay with that." Her smile is soft, and he realizes that she looks happy all the time because she actually is happy. That, and she isn't holding her feet away from the floor. She's just so short that her feet don't touch the floor when she sits all the way back against the couch.

"Good for you. Why don't you head home?" She pulls her body up straight, and she slips her feet back into her sandals after scooting to the edge of the cushion.

"Does that mean you're leaving early tonight? Because you've earned it, boss." The day has been busy, so busy that neither of them has really had the time to stop and just breathe, but she's earned the right to leave on time more than he has. All he's had to do is show up. She had to get things ready and then sit in on the meetings too. So he's going to end the day now, if only to get her to go home.

"Yes, we're both leaving early tonight."

He tells her to leave his office, but she carries on as if she hasn't heard him and helps him put everything away. With her help, it doesn't take long at all. She slips out while he's packing his case, and he quickly grabs the single piece of paper left on his desk and leaves his office. He turns right, like he's going towards the elevators, but he goes to her desk instead of walking straight ahead. There's a tall blonde standing next to her desk that looks vaguely familiar, and the smiling woman stops talking when she notices him approaching.

"I'll see you tomorrow for lunch?" the blonde asks after stopping mid-sentence. Mads, who is standing behind her desk and bending over a little as she rearranges her things, looks up and notices him standing in front of her desk. She winks at him, where the other woman can't see, and then pivots her upper body so that she's only looking at the blonde.

"I wouldn't miss it. You're bringing the plates, right?" Mads asks as she slowly straightens up. The blonde glances over at him, almost nervously, as he leans against the front of Mads's desk.

"Only if you're still bringing the cupcakes." The blonde is obviously a little uncomfortable, she keeps fidgeting, but the smile on her face when Mads looks at her is genuine.

"Of course. See you tomorrow, Angela." The other woman says a quick goodbye and hurries off, and Ward will never understand how women wearing heels can move that fast. Mads waits until the woman is completely out of earshot before she turns to look at him, and she looks both amused and a little embarrassed.

"Can I tell you something as a friend? Not as my boss?" she asks in a quiet voice.

"We're off the clock, so, sure," he decides. She leans closer towards him, probably balancing on her toes, and she quickly glances around to make sure that there's no one around to hear her.

"The other assistants are a little scared of you. Apparently Kristy, down on the first floor, burst into tears after only working for you for two days," Mads quickly whispers.

"Kristy…tall, long brown hair, bangs?" He knows that some of his assistants were moved to different departments instead of being outright fired, but he doesn't keep track of them once they stop working directly for him.

"On the shorter side, very short black hair, kind of spiky? How many assistants have you made cry?" She leans back and props her hands on her hips, and she slowly shakes her head as she smiles. "Never mind, I don't wanna know. Did I forget to do something?"

"No, nothing like that. I just wanted to." He holds up the folded piece of paper still in his hand, and he stretches his arm out so she can take it. "Give you this."

"Number to a spa?" She has her usual bag on her shoulder as she steps away from her desk, but she doesn't start walking until he reaches her side.

"Hopefully something better." A few curious pairs of eyes fall on them as they walk to the elevator, and Mads looks down to scan the paper after they step inside the empty elevator. (He's sure the man who steps off the elevator as they step on had just gotten on the elevator, but he certainly isn't going to question him. Mads is one of the few people in the company that he actually tolerates and the only one he enjoys talking to. The less people around, the better.)

"This is…this is the recipe for the cake!" She twists and lifts her arms, like she's going to hug him, but she stops herself from following through. With a put-upon sigh, he opens one arm and looks up at the ceiling as she lets out a happy sound that's nearly a squeal. Her arms lock around his middle as she hugs him from the side, and he lowers his arm to pat her shoulder but doesn't fully return the gesture. "Thank you, Ward. I'll bring you a piece if I get the recipe right."

The doors open as she's pulling back, and he sees the way her face darkens in embarrassment as she quickly lowers her eyes to the floor. She's still smiling though, and Ward is the first to step off of the elevator. She easily catches up to him so that they can walk out of the building together, and she tips her head back to look at the sky once they're on the sidewalk. He stops next to her on the sidewalk, quickly looks her over from the way her eyes squint against the dying sunlight to her worn-looking sandals, and ignores the people moving around them. She's in her usual work attire, slacks and a blouse, but she still doesn't have a jacket to protect her from the cold wind. It isn't his job to take care of his assistant though, so he doesn't say anything.

"See you tomorrow, O'Connor."

"Bright and early, Mr. Meachum."

* * *

**Finis: **Clearly, I have a thing for Ward being protective. Despite that, I do want to point out that Mads isn't some weak damsel that needs to be saved. Like she told Darcy, she got angry and nearly lost control. So she has to constantly keep herself calm and under control, whereas Ward can toss people around. Also, I am loving writing out their growing friendship. It makes me endlessly happy, and I hope you've enjoyed it too!

Thank you for reading!

**akagami hime chan: **Haha, I never expected to like Ward at all but he grew on me. Now he's my favorite _Iron Fist _character, from the Marvel Netflix Universe. Also, I love Darcy. So when Mads needed a friend that could easily deal with weirdness, Darcy was my go-to. Thank you for reading and reviewing!


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